


Good Intentions

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Autofellatio, Ch 2 tags:, Cleaning, Clones, Crack, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Dildos, Discord: O Lord Heal This Server, Discorporation (Good Omens), Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Masturbation, Micropenis, Multi, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Pining, Prompt Fill, Selfcest, Sickfic, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Tentacles, Thirsty Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Prompt fills. Mostly crack. Each chapter will include tags in chapter notes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 249
Kudos: 527
Collections: The Not-Very-Nice and Anatomically-Inaccurate Prophecies of OLHTS





	1. Autosnellatio

**Author's Note:**

> Title of collection courtesy of Fyre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: masturbation, half-snake Crowley, snake anatomy, Crowley has a vulva, Crowley has a penis, Crowley has hemipenes
> 
> Chapter title from Mackaley!

Crowley is bored.

Last time he was this bored, he came up with the whole M-25 thing but that's not on the table. He’s not working anymore

He could go outside, immune to disease and all, but he's seen enough plagues to know that people follow each others’ example. See that bloke outside? Must be ok to go outside then.

So Crowley is hunkering down.

He hates it.

He can only watch so much TV before he feels like he’s vibrating. He’s cleaned his entire flat twice, miracling grime just for the excuse to scrub something down.

There is always a point in Crowley’s boredom where he begins to get ideas. A very particular set of ideas. The sort of ideas that start up a delicious ache in his belly and that usually end with his hands down his pants.

He generally tries to push those ideas away because, inevitably, they tend towards a certain being who he’d rather not look in the face after wanking to the idea of him giving Crowley a suck job with his pretty little mouth.

Except...he won’t have to look Aziraphale in the face. They’re in lockdown. He has plenty of time to indulge and then wipe the mental slate clean so to speak. He can masturbate to his heart’s content. 

So he does. 

He starts with a cock because that’s usually what he has. He keeps his hand slick and lets himself think about pudgy fingers and soft white hair until he comes with a groan over his belly. 

He feels a small spike of shame about the whole thing but then looks at the clock and realizes he’s spent a whole thirty minutes not thinking about being stuck in his flat. That’s very promising.

After that he switches out his genitals because he doesn’t want to deal with the refractory period or the constant mess. It’s much easier to jam two or three fingers inside himself while he works furiously over his clit. And it turns out masturbating with a vagina takes longer and the clock reads another hour down. Perfect.

He miracles sex toys, vibrators, dildos, anal beads. And goes to fucking town.

It’s only when he’s in his bed, using a double ended u-shaped dildo to fuck in and out of his vagina and arse simultaneously that he comes so hard his cunt gushes over his hands and his sheets. He groans. It felt good but the whole point of the thing was to keep the mess down. No point wasting miracles just to clean up and do it all over again.

Then Crowley has an idea.

He’s flexible. If he had a cock he could potentially...get it in his mouth.

No mess to clean up if he swallows it.

Rather enamored of the idea, he miracles the bed clean and switches back to a cock before settling up against the pillows. He strokes himself to hardness and then tries to curl his spine forward. He tries placing his feet flat on the bed. He lays on his back and rolls his hips up and back so his feet over his head.

In that position, he can lick the tip but it’s not enough and it’s damned uncomfortable.

He tries to do it in a chair. On the ceiling. Standing up. On the floor.

Nothing works. Despite his snake heritage, he’s not flexible enough.

Snake...heritage…

Now that’s an idea.

Without even thinking, he transforms his lower half into a tail. Perfect. He knows his genitals are tucked away at the bottom of his tail but like this he can wind his tail up his body until his mouth is right by his cloaca. He settles on his back on the bed and does exactly that.

He looks at his red belly, feeling very pleased at his creativity, before he licks over his cloaca, forcing his hemipenes to unfurl. They’re fleshy, little, wet mounds and they’ve always reminded Crowley a bit of fuzzy mushrooms. Not totally sexy but that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to prove he can suck himself off and he’ll be damned--blessed if he can’t do it.

He opens his mouth wide and sucks them both into his mouth, tonguing the place where they separate. It makes his whole body tingle and he laps at the ooze that drips from both of them. It tastes quite sweet, very different than his human spend. He suckles on the left and then the right, feeling arousal tighten in his belly. He’s close. He just needs a little imagery to finish off.

What if it were Aziraphale sucking him off like this? He could tighten his tail around that lush body, press his cocks into his mouth until he’s choking on them, until spit joins his leaking flesh. He fucks into his own mouth, stretching his lips and making his throat grow tight.

His tail coils and he feels his right penis come, oozing hot and thick over his lips and dripping down his chin. He gags as it floods his throat and the contraction makes his left cock jerk, joining the first as it spills and spills. 

He can’t swallow anymore so he pulls off, watching the clear ooze pool on his tail and drip off onto the sheets. Messy.

What would it be like if he used his snake mouth? Could he swallow more. His teeth are sort of ribbed and his tongue all flickery. That could feel  _ very _ good.

He’s just about to transform his top half when he realizes what he’s doing. He can’t go full snake! If he goes full snake, it will take him days to change back. He learned that lesson ages ago.

Then again, if he transforms entirely, changing back will at least give him something to do.

And he’ll have all sorts of new ways to masturbate.


	2. Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: crowley has a vulva, object insertion, Dowling Era

Aziraphale hiked up Crowley’s skirt and put his hand between his legs, making Crowley squirm. “Though if it gets you this worked up, I’ll flirt with every human in England. And the non-humans too.”

Aziraphale frowned and lifted Crowley onto the sideboard, pressing between his legs and kissing him again. His hand worked in lovely circles and then Aziraphale dropped to his knees to drag off his knickers.

Good. Right for the tongue action then.

Then there was one swipe of tongue but it wasn’t enough. Maybe Aziraphale was in the mood to punish him. Withholding tongue until Crowley begged. Or maybe used his tongue first. Before Crowley could offer, something hard and unforgiving was pressing against him. It caught for a second, the shape slightly sharp and uneven. Crowley’s eyes shot open. “What in Satan’s—”

Aziraphale smirked up at him just as the rest of the parrot head of the umbrella slipped inside him.

It was that sort of night then.


	3. Form 1023B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: non graphic discorporation, outsider pov

Kaziel wondered if the poor bloke had had an embarrassing discorporation. He was blushing something fierce. Whatever it was couldn't be worse than the 1023-A (short term corporation after an accidental discorporation or ST-CAAAD) form that Gabriel had filed after tripping over his own sandal and drowning to death in a bucket of camel shit during the birth of Christ.

"The forms stay confidential. Any bigwigs who want to requisition them will be required to file form 99 which has to be drafted and signed by the Metatron. Nobody goes through the trouble. Zero 99s since the earth was created. Doubt there will be one any time soon."

Aziraphale sighed in relief and took the form. "Alright. Do you have a pen?"

Kaziel snatched one from the cup at the corner of the desk. They had DoR stamped across the side in impact font. Aziraphale took it with a tired and thankful smile before wandering over to the lone chair and taking a seat.

Kaziel turned back to his newspaper and ignored the scratching of Aziraphale’s pen.

An hour passed before the form was placed in front of him. He took it and gave it a quick once over to make sure he didn't miss anything.

Spying the answer to the last question. He choked. 

"Right," he wheezed. "You're going to need to fill out form 723G - P."

(Nonstandard corporation equipment requisition - Genitals, Penis.)


	4. Mr. Clean would be proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt: housework

When Crowley walks into the bookshop, he is greeted by...nothing.

He glances into the alcove housing Aziraphale's desk and still nothing.

"Aziraphale?" he calls out, confused. He can sense the angel somewhere nearby, that low fizzle of divinity like carbonation on the back of his tongue.

He pokes his head into the backroom. Still nothing.

Turning his attention to the wrought iron stairs that lead to the second level, Crowley strokes his chin in thought. No. Aziraphale never goes upstairs. Crowley absently knows there is a flat up there, but he's never seen Aziraphale use it.

"Aziraphale?" he shouts again, this time louder and directed up towards the second level. There's a small clatter and a sort of swishing sound like water moving before Aziraphale calls back.

"Oh, I'm up here, my dear! In the bathroom!"

Crowley frowns. What the deuce is Aziraphale doing in the loo? It's not like they use it for anything.

Crowley trots up the stairs and down the short corridor that leads off the balcony and into Aziraphale's flat. The air is dusty and makes Crowley sneeze as he pushes open the bathroom door to see…

Aziraphale.

Crowley clutches at the doorjamb as he takes in the sight.

Aziraphale in a tight gray undershirt that fits every curve. He can see his forearms. He's wearing a pair of green tartan boxers that show off his thighs. It's so much skin.

Wet, soapy skin.

Crowley can't breathe.

Aziraphale rubs the brush in tight, concentric circles over the tiled wall. Bubbles form in the wake of his movements and slide down the slick, white tiles. The muscles in his arm flex as he sucks in a breath and scrubs harder, some recalcitrant fleck of dirt requiring extra attention as he presses deeper against the title. The bristles catch on the grout with a soft hiss and Aziraphale makes another tight, measured circle with his hand. His forefinger is extended over the back of the brush, knuckles white with how much force he is exerting. His breathing is ragged as he continues to work, not knowing Crowley is watching. With his free hand, he grasps the wall for leverage and redoubles his efforts, moving the brush even faster now. After a final rough push of the brush, Aziraphale lets out a pleased grunt, presumably removing the final bit of whatever made him so focused.

Crowley makes a noise. If he were forced to describe the noise upon threat of death, he'd probably compare it to the air going out of a balloon and a horse whinnying at the same time. Perhaps the sound of coffee percolating. If percolating coffee could sound deeply distressed.

Aziraphale pauses in scrubbing the tiled and turns toward Crowley. The brush in his hand is dripping water slowly into the tub, each drop gathering down the bristles until they are fat and heavy. There's a dark spray of water on his gray shirt. It's rucked up on one side, slightly tucked into the waistband of his boxers. He smiles at Crowley and Crowley is certain his immortal life is ending.

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were going to stop by. I fancied a bath and realized I hadn't cleaned the place in years."

"Miracles," Crowley wheezes and when Aziraphale frowns he adds, "Why didn't you miracle it clean?"

Aziraphale looks a bit sheepish at that. "It turns out a few decades worth of dust is rather miracle-proof. And there was mildew. You know I've always been terrible at cleaning miracles."

"Right," Crowley says, watching a trickle of water run down the dusky blond hair of Aziraphale's calf. It makes his skin glisten and shimmer. 

"You can help if you like," Aziraphale says brightly. "I'm just finishing up the tub, but the floor could use a good scrubbing."  
Crowley, unlike Aziraphale, is not terrible at cleaning miracles. That being said, if he picks up a scrub brush and gets on his knees, that means he gets to spend a bit more time watching Aziraphale get wet.

Cleaning has never been so erotic.


	5. Cough Syrup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: drugs
> 
> (as follows logically CW: drug use)

"You're supposed to be at home." 

Crowley is glowering at him from the doorway to his bedroom and Aziraphale thinks it's distinctly unfair how attractive he looks while glowering. That's supposed to be an ugly expression. 

Just to check, Aziraphale glowers back. It feels like an ugly expression but he isn't sure because Aziraphale's face is smooshed into Crowley's pillow which smells very nice actually.

"You smell nice," Aziraphale says, keeping his face pressed into the pillow while he wriggles his shoulders out of his jacket. 

"And you're high as a kite. What the heaven did you take? Hallucinogens and colds don't play nice." 

Aziraphale can hear him moving closer. Snakey boots going tip tap tip tap. 

Aziraphale flops onto his back and looks up at Crowley. He raises one hand and tries to touch Crowley's chin because there's a little spot where he missed shaving. Or does he miracle it away? How would you miss a spot if you miracle yourself clean shaven?

The little spot is shaped like a heart and Aziraphale smiles. "Shaved heart," he announces, wriggling his finger.

Crowley grabs his hand and pushes it back to the bed. Very silly of him to get within snatching distance because Aziraphale is stronger than him even if his muscles all feel like sloopy noodley, noodle-things. 

A simple tug has Crowley tumbling on top of him.

Aziraphale lets out a pleased hum even as Crowley wriggles away. 

"What are you doing? You're sick," Crowley says. Very accusing. Very unfair. Aziraphale has done nothing wrong.

"I hate human colds," Aziraphales grouses. He'd very much like to sniff Crowley again so he edges closer to where the demon is perched beside him.

"Yes, but they hardly last. Unless you've got something worse."

"Mmm, no," Aziraphale says, wrapping his hand around Crowley's thigh and  _ tugging _ so he can push his face into it. Ah. Crowley-smell. He rubs his nose against the scratchy jean fabric and Crowley yelps, shoving him off.

"It's going to go away though," Aziraphale says. "I drank the whole bottle. Get better faster if you take more. Maths. I'm very intelligent. Did you know that?"

Crowley is slapping away his hands as Aziraphale continues to sneak them over his legs and around his sides. "The WHOLE BOTTLE? You  _ idiot _ ."

Aziraphale grabs Crowley and dumps him against the pillows, grasping him close like he's the world's pointiest teddy bear.

"Yes. Idiot. You too. Biggest idiot. Very pretty though. Pretty idiot. Crowley is pretty, isn't he? Handsome. Kissing handsome. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss," he chirrups into Crowley's chest.

Crowley freezes. "Um, Aziraphale?"

Unfortunately, Aziraphale has fallen asleep. He will also be very embarrassed in the morning.


	6. Mix and Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: dildos, tentacles, non traditional efforts, masturbation, pining
> 
> Prompt: tentacles

Aziraphale went upstairs and immediately opened his chest of goodies. He had spent all night with Crowley and the demon had been wearing what had looked like a mesh shirt and Aziraphale had been able to see his nipples for goodness sake. To say he'd been sporting a stiffy for the majority of the evening was underplaying the issue. He wasn't supposed to be fantasizing about Crowley  _ or _ his nipples. 

Now that the demon had taken his leave, Aziraphale would finally get some relief.

He withdrew the special box he kept it in. It was his favorite when he wanted something in his mouth while he masturbated. Unable to wait another moment, he undid his trousers as he opened the box.

It lay quiescent as it always did, a thick black whip dotted with red suckers that he couldn't wait to feel against his tongue. He crawled into bed, already palming his hard prick as he clutched the toy in his other hand.

He laid back against the pillows and pressed the tip of the dildo against his mouth, savoring the fleshy weight before letting it slip inside. Aziraphale loved the way it penetrated his mouth, the suckers scraping over his soft palate. The base was always too big. It stretched his mouth unpleasantly while the soft, fleshy tip nudged the back of his throat and made him choke.

He fisted his hand around his leaking cock and stroked, forcing a moan out around the toy. Not good enough.

Rolling over, he held the dildo by the base against the mattress so he could take it deeper. He rutted against the sheets and imagined what it would be like if Crowley were there. A Crowley who wanted him. Surely, such a Crowley would say his mouth would look better filled with a cock. Or maybe he'd take the toy from Aziraphale and ease it into his body so he could fuck him with it. Maybe he would still be wearing that mesh shirt. Maybe Aziraphale would be able to suck on his nipples.

Aziraphale moaned. He was so close. 

A sharp clattering made him falter. A flash of black in the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale sat up and a squelching noise sounded when his mouth separated from the suckers. 

Crowley stared at him.

A string of spit connected his lower lip to the tip of the tentacle and he couldn't decide if he should try to hide the toy or put his cock away.

"I broke your doorknob," Crowley said from the doorway, holding up said doorknob.

Aziraphale swiped his sleeve over his wet mouth and as the endorphins began to ebb, embarrassment rushed in in its wake and his mind finally came back online.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded as he zipped himself up and stood. The dildo sat, an incriminating tentacle, upon the duvet. Crowley glanced at it.

"I forgot my jacket," Crowley said.

"And you're in my bedroom because…?" Aziraphale asked, finding anger a bit easier to handle than embarrassment. 

Crowley, whose nipples he could most definitely still see, had just walked in on him masturbating and now he was standing there gaping like a salmon.

"You were making noises like…" Crowley glanced at the bed again. "Thought you needed help."

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes with one hand, ready to send Crowley off and hopefully never speak of this again. 

Instead, Crowley ventured, "You know...demons have a sort of mix and match thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aziraphale asked, not feeling up to Crowley's strange observations.

Crowley shrugged one shoulder and sucked on his lower lip. "Just, yanno, some demons have tentacles around their—" Crowley made an all encompassing gesture at his groin. "So I can too. Can also make it into a turtle. But that's probably not up your alley."

Aziraphale swallowed and looked at Crowley's crotch. A flushed pink tendril pushed its way out of Crowley's waistband and began to undo his zip. Aziraphale's mouth went dry.

"Interested?" Crowley asked as a second tentacle emerged.

"Very."

  
  
  
  



	7. Clones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a sad fill this week i guess
> 
> tags: clones, selfcest, first time (sort of), pining, angst

1995

Crowley hadn't meant for Aziraphale to know really and for all the reasons for him to find out, it had been the bloody washing up.

"Crowley?!"

When he skids to a stop in the archway to the kitchen to see Aziraphale standing frozen and pointing at the carbon copy of himself currently doing dishes, Crowley grimaces.

"I can explain?"

"You can make more of you? How long have you been able to do this?"

"I got it after the war. Routine power upgrade as part of a commendation. Not worth mentioning I thought," Crowley says. It's odd to stand there and watch as Aziraphale looks between him and his copy as it silently washes plates.

That's all the clones are really good for. Little things. Crowley can really only set them off and let them follow orders. Obedient to a fault. Intelligent? Not so much. They know how to do that Crowley knows how to do but can't make a decision to save their lives.

Despite Aziraphale's shock, and Crowley's embarrassment, Crowley thinks that that is the end of that conversation.

Until three weeks later, they are each six glasses deep into a fine bordeaux when Aziraphale says, "What do you use them for?"

"Hmm?" Crowley asks, refocusing on Aziraphale's face. His gaze, as it was wont to do, had drifted to Aziraphale's thighs at some point.

"The clones. Must be more useful than just washing dishes."

"Ah." Crowley smacks his lips before draining his glass. "Not really. Can't do much for me outside of following orders."

Aziraphale makes a small noise of understanding and taps the side of his glass with his index finger. "I suppose I thought, clever thing like you, that you might have used them to get up to things you can't with humans...or anyone else."

Crowley grips his wineglass so tight it threatens to shatter. They don't talk about this. 1967. A holy water promise of a sort. There have been touches and lingering looks Crowley had tried very hard not to read too much into and now Aziraphale looks at him and Crowley realizes he's been right all along.

"I suppose I could," Crowley says, feeling more sober than he has in years. "Never thought about it. I think it would be too difficult though. It'd be hard to keep my mind right, to give the instructions."

"But if someone else gave them," Aziraphale asks, eyes not leaving Crowley's face.

"Might work."

"I'd be so interested to see how that would work. Perhaps you could show me," Aziraphale says. He licks his lips and Crowley's heart hammers in his ears. This game of subterfuge is ridiculous but Crowley will play it. He will play it because Aziraphale has asked. And it's the closest to a confession of feeling he may ever get.

He snaps his fingers and a clone appears at Aziraphale's elbow.

Aziraphale glances up at him and says, proper as you please, "If you'd be a dear, I'd like for you to do as I tell you." And then he gestures for the clone to approach Crowley. It's always strange to see himself reflected like this. His eyes are always more yellow than he thinks they will be. There are always more freckles than last he checked.

"I think, if pleasure is the course of the evening, that I would start with a bit of kissing," Aziraphale says, and though it's prim, Crowley can hear the thick quality of it. But the phrasing of it is what slides in between his ribs and strikes at his heart. _I would start…_

The clone drops to his knees between Crowley's spread legs and leans forward to kiss him. It's strange, to kiss yourself, and then Aziraphale says, "softly," like this means _everything_ and suddenly Crowley can imagine it's Aziraphale he's kissing. The scrape of stubble against his mouth is Aziraphale's, the tongue that slides along his is Aziraphale's. 

"I would kiss your neck," Aziraphale said and the clone did as he was bid. "Across your throat while I open your trousers. Do you want hands or mouth?"

Crowley's head collides with the back of the couch as the wet heat of his own mouth trails down his throat. 

"Angel," he gasps, unable to look at himself. Unable to look at Aziraphale.

"If it were me, I would use my mouth," Aziraphale says and it's tempered with that same lust. The air is filled with it. Hot like chocolate. Sweet and thick. 

Familiar fingers open his trousers and tug them down. His cock has been hard since _I would kiss you_ and it falls against his stomach, heavy and dripping.

The clone drops back onto his heels as Aziraphale says, "Suck him."

And he does.

His own mouth is almost unbearably hot as it swallows around him, forked tongue flicking at the frenulum in a trick he now personally knows feels like seeing stars. A wide palm presses down on his thigh for leverage as the clone bobs his head in an easy rhythm. 

With his eyes closed, Crowley spares a moment to pretend this is what he wants it to be. That moment he's wanted for years. Aziraphale and him, finally coming together. But this isn't that. It is simply another in a series of almosts. Something Crowley clings to when he begins to question everything.

He moans and sinks his hand into fine hair that is not at all short or soft enough and his eyes fly open. He sees the obscene tableau of his own mouth stretched around his cock, hand fisted in the clone's hair. 

He looks across the room at Aziraphale and his heart stops. The angel is looking at him, cheeks flushed. His hand is in his tan trousers and he's fisting it over his cock. The furious movements tent the material and its one of the most erotic things Crowley has seen in his existence and it is ultimately what pushes him over the edge.

He grasps the clones head and groans, coming down his throat. It goes on forever and Crowley can't tear his eyes away from Aziraphale as the tremors finally subside.

"I'd kiss you right now," Aziraphale says and the clone moves to obey but Crowley pushes him aside, snapping his fingers to make him disappear because he can't bear the thought of kissing anyone who isn't Aziraphale.

As the clone disappears, Aziraphale moans and comes over his hand. It's a glorious sight, really. And something Crowley never thought he'd see. 

But Aziraphale quickly miracles himself to rights and pours them both another glass of wine like nothing at all has happened.

"I'd kiss you too," Crowley says, long after the moment has passed.

Aziraphale pauses and gives him a gentle smile. For reasons unknown to him, it makes Crowley's heart sing.

"I know you would, my dear."


	8. Micro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fill for the prompt "tiny"
> 
> tags: rated E, micropenis, dick jokes (so many)
> 
> its not the size of the boat but the enthusiasm of the sailors

There’s a misconception that there was no sex in Heaven.

Right before the Eden project went live there was  _ loads _ of sex in Heaven. Sin hadn't been invented yet. Angels had just been given corporations and sex felt good.

Suffice it to say, it was a free for all.

So before Crowley fell, he'd seen his fair share—and done his fair share—of frollicking. He knew what felt good and what didn't and he liked the sort of swapability of angelic corporations. Tired of dick? Try a cunt! New and improved! As many orgasms as you'd like! Don't want either? Do we have a combo for you!

_ After _ he fell, he was too busy being a snake and convincing people to eat apples to think about dicks. 

In fact, he didn’t think about his dick for a while. Not until it perked up right around watching a particular angel eat a pear in the soon-to-be decommissioned garden after Adam and Eve got the boot. At which point, he hied himself off to an abandoned hotspring to deal with his arousal the old fashioned way, only to hike up his robes and see...very little.

Well, he saw testicles. A whole normal wrinkly sac of them, poised under a thatch of red pubic hair. Poking out of the vulnerable roundness was the beginning of an erection. Or something. The tip of a very thick thumb looking thing rising out of the seam of his balls.

"What the fuck?"

Must have been some sort of mistake when transformed. Too focused on switching from snake to human to give himself a proper set of equipment.

He screwed up his face and thought long and hard about something, well, long and hard, but when he opened his eyes there was still only that little nub poking out from his balls.

He rubbed it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it, and  _ oh _ , that was it.

It turned out he could cup his genitals and play with his balls while grinding his tiny cock into his palm which was  _ exquisite  _ and he came hard all over himself in fat white drops. 

Small cock or no, the orgasms were still pretty good.

When he lodged a complaint with Hell, they sent a terse memo in response. Apparently, changing your corporation willy nilly was the purview of Heaven. Explained why Hastur looked (and smelled) like a corpse.

Crowley tried not to think about what he had in his pants.

The long and short of it was that while Crowley appreciated the benefits of easy masturbation, his cock was essentially useless. Which should have been  _ fine _ . He wasn't about to use it on anyone. He didn't fancy any demons and the thought of having sex with some human made him want to throw himself off of something high up.

But he  _ knew _ what Aziraphale liked.

Alright, he didn't  _ know _ . He couldn't possibly  _ know _ , but the angel was a hedonist. He would absolutely be a pillow princess. If anyone in the history of ever wanted to get dicked eight ways from Sunday, it was Aziraphale.

And, bless him, Crowley wanted to dick him.

It wasn't so much the dicking— though shoving his tiny cock  _ inside _ Aziraphale was a fantasy that often had him dribbling all over his balls— rather the fact that Aziraphale probably wanted to be dicked that made Crowley fantasize about it.

But it was fairly safe. A fantasy. They were on opposite sides.

Until they weren't. 

Which was how Crowley ended up backed against the door of the bookshop with Aziraphale's hands in his hair and Aziraphale's tongue in his mouth.

Then Aziraphale's hands were on his zip and Crowley's micropenis flashed before his eyes. That was the medical term apparently. Micropenis. You'd think the humans would come up with something less ridiculous.

He grabbed Aziraphale's wrists and pushed them away, shoving him back until he slammed into the nearest wall so Crowley could get on his knees.

Turned out Aziraphale's cock was perfectly adequate. Above average. Good for choking on.

And Crowley was happy to fucking gag on it while he rubbed himself off with the heel of his hand.

Aziraphale really didn't need to know.

Mostly, Crowley really didn't want him to be disappointed.

<hr>

Humans had a phrase they liked to bandy about. Compensating for something. They liked to say it about men with flashy cars who drove too fast and who wore tight pants and maybe all those things applied to Crowley but he did them because they were cool and he wasn't compensating for anything with a car. Stupid thing to do.

No, he was compensating for something by reading every book and pamphlet on nonpenetrative sex he could get his hands on. 

Unfortunately, there were only so many ways to fuck a mouth and Crowley couldn’t keep his trousers on forever. Aziraphale was going to see the penis, have thoughts about the penis, and probably touch the penis.

Crowley was not ready.

It all came to a head one night after a bottle of wine and a terrible film. They were snogging on Crowley's couch, turned all horizontal-like with Aziraphale between Crowley's thighs.

It was good. Beyond good. Fucking phenomenal. Then Aziraphale had to snake his hand between their bodies and cup his crotch. Aziraphale grunted in distress and sat up.

"Is it me?" Aziraphale asked, eyes wide and despondent. "I can change my corporation. Anything you like," he offered with false cheer that cracked Crowley's heart in two. "Perhaps something a bit more handsome would arouse you. Or...something more feminine?"

"Fuck. No," Crowley said, scrambling to grab at Aziraphale's lapels to stop him from doing whatever angels had to do to change corporations. "You're perfect the way you are."

"There must be something wrong,” Aziraphale said with obvious distress. “You never get an erection.”

"That's...not entirely true."

"Then why won't you let me touch you?"

Crowley sighed. It was going to happen eventually. He undid his zipper and wriggled out of his jeans, leaving himself bare to Aziraphale who cocked his head. "Oh."

"Yeah," Crowley said, face flaming. Same old, same old. Even hard, his cock was barely a few centimeters. 

"It's cute."

Crowley groaned. "Don't say that."

"If you don't like it, why don't you switch out?"

"Demons can't."

"Oh." 

The pathetic erection was withering and the silence stretched on and on and then Aziraphale said, "I'd very much like to suck you if that's alright."

Some consonants tripped out of Crowley's mouth that had no business being smooshed so tightly together.

"You still want to…"

Aziraphale pushed him back against the cushions. "I love you and if you think minor sexual incompatibilities are going to stop me from doing so, you have grossly underestimated me."

It was the first time Aziraphale had said the words. And of course it was over Crowley's micropenis and he didn't even get to properly appreciate it because before he could reply Aziraphale took him into his mouth.

It turned out that one of the biggest benefits of having a tiny dick was how easy it was for someone to suck it.


	9. Sauce your mouths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sauce
> 
> tags: true form, mentions of things that could be considered body horror, just generally gross

“Alright so, shops and then I’ll be back and it’s just two days and— why is this list only condiments?” 

Crowley held out the paper grocery list Aziraphale had stuffed into his hand and peered at the scribbled requests. The angel really did have awful handwriting.

“Ranch?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“The third lower mouth always requests it,” Aziraphale said apologetically, wringing his hands. “And when it doesn’t get it, it tries to eat whatever it can get its teeth on.”

“Is  _ the third lower mouth  _ American suddenly?” Crowley asked. “And tonkatsu sauce? Do I have to go to all the specialty shops in London?”

“I’m sorry!” Aziraphale cried, sinking into his desk chair. He was already looking very sweaty about the temples, the molt coming on apparently did that. “The different mouths are just very particular and if you keep them fed and interested they won’t try anything and I’ll stay put while I molt which is the most important bit so I don’t wake up in some field having eaten some poor farmer’s cattle.”

“So I just need to...sauce your mouths.”

“Every hour or so,” Aziraphale said, tugging at his collar as if he were very hot. “And ignore the shrieking. And also I may try to, erm, take off your clothes which might be difficult to avoid what with the dozen arms so you may need to restrain me.”

“You going to try to eat me?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale blushed. “Not in the traditional sense, no.”

Crowley squirmed, forming a very exciting picture of Aziraphale’s true form. All those extra hands and mouths. The possibilities were endless. “And how many mouths do you have again?”

“Twelve,” Aziraphale said. “But don’t get any ideas. My teeth are very sharp.”

“You could always lick the ranch off of—”

“Crowley.”

“Fine. You’re no fun,” Crowley said as he shrugged on his coat. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a fill a few weeks ago (im behind on posting these so behind) in which we filled a mix of old prompts  
> I did "effort mistakes, discorporation, the bentley"
> 
> CW: gore (yes)
> 
> Shout out to OLHTS for telling me to post these even when they're really gross

Aziraphale kissed down his chest, making little happy noises that warmed Crowley’s belly. They did this wonderful thing now. Did it on couches, against walls, and now, in Aziraphale’s bed. He’d even forgiven the angel the tartan duvet because he was more than slightly drunk on kisses.

“Why don’t you make me something nice, my dear?” he said as he ran his hand over Crowley’s hip, skating it over the crux of his thigh where it met his groin. He’d left himself smooth, as was his preference when they got started. He liked the way it made the desire start low and unhurried.

If he manifested genitals too soon, he was liable to make a mess all over himself.

“Preference?” he gasped, rolling up into Aziraphale’s questing hand.

“I’d love to have something in my mouth.” Aziraphale spread his legs apart and slipped between them, warm palms wide on his thighs.

Crowley manifested a decently sized penis for Aziraphale’s pleasure, knowing now that Aziraphale liked to choke on it.

Thing was, as Aziraphale began his very skilled ministrations, Crowley found his mind drifting. Had he created the dick wrong? Were the nerves a bit wonky? Nah, it all felt good. Maybe he was distracted. Aziraphale was making all the right noises and when Crowley carded his hand through that soft blond hair, the angel practically purred before trying to take him all the way down to the root.

Then Crowley realized he couldn’t quite remember if he’d watered his spider plant and Aziraphale spluttered and pulled off, revealing a tuft of greenery between Crowley’s legs.

“When I said make something nice, I did mean in the normal realm of genitalia, my dear,” Aziraphale chided.

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley rushed to say before returning the little bush to a more fleshy shape. Aziraphale gave him the stink eye but got back to work.

Maybe they’d been having *too* much sex and Crowley need time to have thoughts and now he just had spare ones and they were leaking out everywhere. 

Speaking of leaking, he was fairly certain the Bentley needed an oil change because something had been dripping regularly.

The last he saw of Aziraphale was his corporation being ripped in two at the mouth by the half grown Bentley between his legs. Turns out human corporations weren’t meant to have a car inside them. Popped like a grape they did.

“Aw, shit,” he said to the goopy stuff dripping from the ceiling as he hurriedly put the car away. “Aziraphale?”

Eyeball on the nightstand. Teeth...around.

Crowley grimaced. Corporations would be a bitch to come by. He should probably get to work on an apology. Baked goods would be involved.

But first, a deep cleaning.

Could one get spleen out of tartan?


	11. Report #1333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt "reports"

Report #1333 Dated March the 3rd the year of our Lord 2021

I have copulated with the angel for the 238th time using the following methods

  1. Tongue in arse (he likes it when I do some of the snakey stuff)
  2. Thigh fucking (pictures enclosed)
  3. Suck jobs (no orgasms here, it was more for fun than anything. I like to choke on it)
  4. Penetrative sex (I rode his cock until my thighs gave out. Did you know his cock is eight glorious inches?)



He reached orgasm three times and rated the experience an 8 out 10 using an arbitrary pleasure scale.

I came twice

#  😘

-Crowley

* * *

  
  


**From the Desk of Lord Beezlebub**

Stop sending me these.


End file.
